


sink into me

by ictus



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Massage, Not Epilogue Compliant, Porn with Feelings, Post-Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:07:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23522035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ictus/pseuds/ictus
Summary: Keith wants to take care of Shiro in whatever capacity he can; even if it means picking up a new skill, andespeciallyif it means getting Shiro off.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 182
Collections: Robot Rainbow 2020





	sink into me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Soulstoned](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soulstoned/gifts).



> Canon note: this takes place post-s08, not long after Earth was liberated. Not epilogue compliant, obviously ;D
> 
> Huge thanks to my wonderful beta asuralucier, as ever!

“Alright,” Keith says with more confidence than he feels. “Where does it hurt?”

Shiro shifts a little from where he’s lying face-down on the bed. “Well it’s mostly my shoulders, and then it goes up through my neck. It’s essentially my upper back. But then also my lower back?”

“So basically everywhere?”

Shiro groans. “Definitely everywhere.”

“Well you’re in good hands,” Keith says as he lays a towel over Shiro’s lower body. He means it as a joke, but when Shiro replies with a muffled, _I sure am_ , it makes something clench tight in his chest. Even after six months of being together, it seems impossible that Shiro can still make him feel this way; can still make his heart lurch with how much faith he puts in him. Even with something as simple as this. 

Keith climbs up onto the bed and straddles Shiro’s hips, settling in.

“This isn’t very professional,” Shiro murmurs into the pillow.

“I never promised professionalism,” Keith says, pouring a generous amount of oil into his hand. He takes a moment to rub it between his palms to warm it, before he runs his hands over Shiro’s shoulders and down the long line of his back.

“Oh god,” Shiro says.

Keith snorts. “I’ve barely even touched you.” He begins by rubbing wide circles over Shiro’s shoulders, warming his muscles and releasing some of the surface tension.

“Still,” Shiro says. “Two months working for the brass, and I’m in more pain now than I was when we were fighting space monsters. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.”

“Get a more ergonomic chair?”

“Ha ha,” Shiro says sarcastically. “You know what I mean, though.”

Keith does. Being Earthbound is—necessary. It’s important for them right now. The first few months were easy; after the war, their efforts were concentrated on liberating the remaining prisoners, rehousing refugees, and beginning efforts to rebuild everything that had been destroyed. But now that the crisis has passed its peak, the work has slowed. And the call of the black grows stronger every day.

“It’s not a question of if—”

“—but when,” Shiro finishes. It’s something they’ve started telling themselves recently.

Keith smiles. “Exactly.” He starts working on the muscles on either side of Shiro’s spine, using his fingertips to give long, slow strokes, pulling the tight muscles away from the spine. Shiro makes an appreciative noise, and Keith takes it as a cue that he’s on the right track. With every press of his fingers, he can feel Shiro relaxing, the muscles slowly releasing under his touch.

Shiro groans outright when Keith runs his thumbs along the ridge of one of his shoulder blades.

“That bad, huh?” Keith asks.

“You have no idea. I’m still not convinced that the office chair isn’t some sort of modern day torture device.”

“I didn’t realise you were such a martyr,” Keith says wryly, but the thought shakes something loose inside him. Shiro laughs along, but an uncomfortable feeling catches in Keith’s throat, forming a lump he can’t seem to swallow down.

“Listen,” Keith says after a pause. “I know this isn’t what you were hoping for—”

“Hey,” Shiro says, suddenly. He props himself up on his prosthetic arm and twists his body to face Keith. His other hand finds its way to Keith’s as if on instinct, his touch reassuring. “This is exactly the life I’d hoped for.”

A rush of warmth expands in Keith’s chest, even as his throat seals up. It never ceases to amaze him how Shiro can be so open and generous with his affection, can make grand declarations of love as if they cost him nothing. And Keith—even now, Keith finds himself tongue-tied. The first time Keith told Shiro he loved him, he did it because he thought they might be the last words he ever spoke. And even now, after everything they’ve been through—years of friendship and months of more than that—Keith still struggles to be as candid with his feelings as Shiro is, as Shiro _deserves_ for him to be.

As the silence wears on, Shiro seems to pick up on Keith’s struggle. “You know that, right?” he adds, running his thumb over the ridges of Keith’s knuckles.

“I know,” Keith says, and this time his voice holds even. If there’s one thing he’s never doubted, it’s how much he means to Shiro—how much they mean to each other. But try as he might, he can’t put that into words. So he slowly raises their interlocked hands to his lips, and presses a kiss into the back of Shiro’s hand. The way Shiro smiles tells Keith he understands.

Keith clears his throat. “So uh, your shoulders really are a mess.”

Shiro groans and flops back onto the bed. “I know. And when I roll this one back”—he rotates his left shoulder—“there’s this weird clicking sound?”

Keith runs his thumbs over the ridge of Shiro’s shoulder blade until he finds the knot. “Right here?”

“Yes,” Shiro hisses.

“Alright, I’m going to try and release the tension. Let me know if I’m hurting you,” Keith says as he rubs tight circles around the knot.

“Oh god,” Shiro groans into the pillow.

“Too much?”

“S’mazing,” comes the muffled response.

Keith grins and continues to work away at the knot, alternating between putting direct pressure on the trigger point and working his hands over the surrounding muscle to soothe some of the ache.

“I’ve just realised I’ve had a headache for the last three days,” Shiro mumbles. “And now it’s gone.”

Keith laughs, now working the knot with longer strokes, his hands running parallel to the muscle fibres. “You had a headache and you didn’t even realise it?”

“That says a lot about the state of my head lately,” Shiro admits. “It was this dull sort of ache, more like a pressure than a pain. Like a tight band around my head,” he says as Keith moves onto the other shoulder. “I used to get them all the time when I was a cadet.”

“Sounds bad.”

“Yeah, but now I have you,” Shiro says with a sigh. “How did you get so good at this?”

Keith falters. “It was—you know, just something I picked up.”

Shiro hums, which could be a reply, but could also be a response to Keith zeroing in on another one of his trigger points. In truth, Keith has watched hours of massage tutorials ever since Shiro had started complaining about back pain. He’d learned everything from trapezius pulls to myofascial release, practicing on himself where possible, before he felt comfortable putting forward the idea to Shiro.

“It won’t be like a professional massage,” he’d explained. “I haven’t had a lot of practice.”

But Shiro hadn’t seemed concerned. “I’d take anything at this point,” Shiro had said, stretching out a crick in his neck. “It’s not like you can make it worse.”

Keith had, in fact, been worried he would make matters worse. But judging by the noises Shiro’s making—muffled groans and contented sighs—Keith seems to be doing okay. Keith makes his way down Shiro’s back methodically, grateful that his combat training has left him with a working understanding of the various muscle groups and how they interact with each other.

Keith is just making his way down to Shiro’s lower back when Shiro lets out a sudden gasp.

“Is it bad?” Keith asks.

“Yeah,” Shiro says through gritted teeth.

“I can try working on it? Pain here is really common, and it can cause problems in the upper back too.” Or so Keith’s read.

“Yeah, try.”

Keith drizzles some more oil onto Shiro’s skin, drawing his hands down the curve of his spine to rub it in. Every time he runs his hands over the dip in Shiro’s spine, he’s met with a sharp intake of breath.

“It’s here, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Shiro groans.

Keith continues to work at the muscle, just as he’s done for the other trigger points. Eventually the muscle begins to soften, and Keith’s able to run his hands over the spot without Shiro tensing.

“Better?”

“Unbelievably,” Shiro says.

“Do you want me to move on?”

Shiro makes an affirmative sound and Keith shifts lower down his body, tugging the towel down with him.

“So much for modesty,” Shiro mumbles.

“What?” Keith says innocently, rubbing more oil into Shiro’s skin. “Glutes can be a source of muscle tension too.”

Shiro hums again, but he doesn’t sound convinced. What Keith said was technically correct, but it also doesn’t mean Keith’s likely to pass up an opportunity to touch Shiro’s ass anytime soon. He starts by slowly kneading the muscle, alternating between palpating the muscle and smoothing it over with long, slow strokes.

“This actually feels incredible.”

“See?” Keith says, not bothering to hide how smug he sounds. “The view’s not bad either.”

Shiro snorts. “Glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I am. Spread your legs for me?”

Shiro doesn’t even make an innuendo, just shifts so Keith can settle between his legs.

“Can you also—here,” Keith says, handing Shiro a pillow. “Can you put this under your hips?”

Shiro turns to take the pillow from Keith, a question etched into his brow.

“You know, to elevate them,” he says. “I heard it helps. And maybe”—he hands Shiro the towel—“put this over the pillow? To stop oil from getting on it,” he adds hastily.

Shiro narrows his eyes but doesn’t protest, shifting on the bed so the pillow is underneath him, his hips raised and his ass on full display.

Keith wasn’t joking, the view _isn’t_ bad. Shiro’s always had an amazing ass, something that Keith had noticed long before they’d ever even kissed, but in this position it looks even better. Shiro looks so inviting like this—legs spread and ass in the air—and Keith briefly considers abandoning the massage so he can spread Shiro open and fuck him until he’s an incoherent mess. But Keith has made an offer—a promise, really, and he’s not about to back out of that.

“Are you going to keep staring at my ass or are you going to finish what you started?” Shiro’s voice is sly, a challenge and a tease all at once.

“Just getting more oil,” Keith says. He squeezes some more out into his palm and warms it between his hands before returning to—not Shiro’s ass, regardless of how desperately he wants to—but his hamstrings. He uses both hands to stroke firmly up the backs of Shiro’s thighs, feeling the muscles tense and then release with every pass, until they begin to loosen completely.

“How’s that?”

“Great,” Shiro says, already sounding relaxed again. “Amazing, fantastic. We should do this all the time.”

Keith smiles. “We can,” he says, starting on Shiro’s other leg. Keith continues on like that, all down to his calves, then finally his feet. He pays particular attention to any trigger points, interspersing near-painful pressure with gentle strokes, until each knot is released.

By the time Keith finishes, Shiro’s breathing has turned deep and even, almost as if he were approaching sleep. Keith makes his way back up Shiro’s body until he reaches the juncture where Shiro’s ass meets his thighs. 

“Can you—” Keith places a hand on Shiro’s hips, trying to lift them off the pillow.

Shiro’s slow to comply, but he eventually pushes himself half up onto his knees. Keith reaches underneath Shiro’s body to pull his cock between his legs, then pushes Shiro’s body back onto the pillow. Shiro is—unsurprisingly—half hard, and Keith gives his cock a gentle squeeze before moving back to his thighs.

“Not even gonna make a joke about a happy ending, huh?”

Shiro mumbles something unintelligible into the pillow, but Keith laughs anyway. Shiro’s been sleeping terribly ever since he took up the post of Admiral, so it’s no wonder he’s completely wrung out. Work stress combined with tension headaches and muscle pains have kept him up well into the early hours of the morning. Now that he thinks of it, Keith can’t remember the last time he saw Shiro looking this relaxed.

“I said, ‘I’m guessing this is all part of the service,’” Shiro clarifies.

“You’re making a lot of assumptions there,” Keith says. He’s still massaging Shiro’s thigh, running his hands from the inside of his thigh to the outside, perpendicular to his muscles. On every stroke, Keith’s hand accidentally-on-purpose brushes between Shiro’s legs, teasing touches to his cock and balls that have Shiro’s breath quickening.

There’s no way Shiro doesn’t know what he’s doing here.

“You saying you’d make a special case for me?” Shiro asks.

Keith grabs the oil and drizzles some of it directly over the head of Shiro’s dick. “I would,” he says, rubbing his thumb around the crown of his cock. Keith draws the foreskin back over the head, smearing oil there as well, and Shiro gasps when Keith presses his thumb against the slit.

“Good?”

“So good,” Shiro mumbles. He almost sounds drunk with the way he’s slurring, struggling to put his words together. Shiro’s been so high-strung lately, and the knowledge that _Keith’s_ the one who could make him feel this good makes him flush with pride.

“I’m glad,” Keith whispers, giving Shiro’s cock one last squeeze. Keith runs his hands over Shiro’s ass again, massaging it just as he did before, except this time he gives into temptation. He spreads Shiro’s cheeks with one hand and with the other, he drizzles some oil directly over his hole. Shiro gasps when the oil first touches his skin, clenching reflexively as the oils spills down his cleft. Keith spreads the oil around Shiro’s hole, teasing the rim, but not pressing inside just yet.

“You up for this?” Keith asks.

Shiro makes a noise that’s unintelligible but unmistakably affirmative. Exhausted though he is, he’s still pressing back into Keith’s touch, urging him on. Keith presses his fingertip inside—shallowly, just teasing at this point—before withdrawing to tease Shiro’s rim again.

“Keith…”

“Yeah?” Keith asks. He runs his fingers down to Shiro’s perineum, massaging his prostate from the outside. The choked-off groan Shiro makes is extremely gratifying.

“This good?” Keith asks again, not because he needs confirmation, but mostly because he wants to hear Shiro say it.

“So fucking good,” Shiro mumbles, canting his hips back. Keith reaches between Shiro’s legs to touch his balls, squeezing them gently. The resulting moan is mostly muffled by the pillow, but Keith gets the idea. He slowly draws his fingers back up over Shiro’s perineum and back to his hole, pressing in this time without hesitation. Relaxed as he is, Shiro takes Keith’s finger easily, even when he draws back to add a second.

“So this was your plan all along?” Shiro says, sounding dazed.

Keith smirks. “Let’s say my offer wasn’t entirely selfless. Here, get up on your knees,” Keith adds, withdrawing his fingers and guiding Shiro into the right position. Shiro’s too wrung out from the massage to support himself on all fours. Instead, he leaves his chest and shoulders pressed into the bed, arching his back so his ass is in the air.

“Like this?” Shiro mumbles.

Keith’s mouth has gone dry. There’s a part of him that still can’t believe he gets to see Shiro like this, naked and vulnerable and completely trusting. “Yeah,” he says eventually. “That’s perfect.”

In this position, Shiro’s cock hangs heavy between his legs. It’s a sight that’s far too tempting to ignore. Keith pours some more oil into his hand and gives it a few firm strokes, feeling it harden rapidly beneath his touch. Keith runs his thumb over the head, twisting at the end of every downstroke, just the way Shiro likes it.

“God,” Shiro moans. Keith can’t see much of his face, but he can tell Shiro’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes are hooded. With his free hand, Keith rubs his fingers over Shiro’s hole again, then presses in. The angle is better like this, allowing him to press in deeper. Shiro lets out a choked-off moan Keith finds his prostate, using two fingers to massage the spot and his thumb to rub Shiro’s perineum.

“I uh— _oh_ , that feels so good.”

It doesn’t matter how many times Keith hears it, Shiro’s praise always makes his pulse quicken. Keith’s own dick is hard in his shorts—just the sight of Shiro’s naked body is enough to do that to him—and it would be so easy to press into Shiro, now that he’s all soft and open for Keith. But tonight is about Shiro, and Keith wants him to have this moment of selfish pleasure.

“ _You_ feel good,” Keith says, because it’s true. Shiro’s so slick and hot, clenching around Keith’s fingers as if he can’t get enough of them.

“I don’t know if I can—”

“It’s okay,” Keith says, stroking him faster now. Shiro’s dick is slippery with oil and precome, making the glide impossibly slick. Keith presses deeper inside Shiro, focusing on that spot as Shiro’s broken moans reach a crescendo.

“God, Keith.” Shiro flings out an arm blindly behind him and grabs onto Keith’s thigh, grasping him desperately.

“Come on Shiro. Come on, let go—”

Shiro comes with a muffled shout, his grip on Keith’s thigh gone harsh as his orgasm hits. Keith strokes him through it, rubbing his prostate as Shiro shudders through his climax, drawing it out until Shiro has nothing left to give. Keith’s own dick twitches as he wrings out the last few drops of come, and it’s not until Shiro’s shuddering with hypersensitivity that Keith finally releases his grip.

“Keith, that was—”

He breaks off, lost for words.

“Yeah?” Keith laughs. He wipes his hands on the towel and balls it up to toss it in the direction of the hamper, then removes the pillow from underneath Shiro’s hips. Shiro collapses on to his side, twisting so he can pull Keith down onto the bed with him.

“Come here,” Shiro says.

Shiro grabs Keith by the wrist and pulls him onto the bed so the length of their bodies are pressed flush against each other. He doesn’t waste any time getting his hands in Keith’s hair and drawing him into a kiss. All the desire Keith’s been holding back suddenly spills out of him. Keith scrabbles at Shiro’s shoulders, eagerly drawing him closer. A moan rises in Keith’s throat, and Shiro swallows it down as he deepens the kiss.

It seems like an eternity has passed before Shiro finally breaks the kiss. “Thank you, Keith. That was incredible.” He breaks into a smile. “The sex was okay too,” he adds.

Keith lets his head fall to Shiro’s chest, if only to hide his own smile. “You don’t have to thank me,” he mumbles into Shiro’s sternum.

Shiro places two fingers under Keith’s chin to raise his face. “But I want to,” he says, and presses a chaste kiss to Keith’s lips. “Can I return the favour?”

Keith’s face heats. Of course. There’s no way Shiro hasn’t noticed Keith’s erection pressing into his hip. “What, and undo all my hard work?” he asks wryly. “It’s okay, you can make it up to me in the morning.”

“After I’ve had eight hours sleep?”

“After you’ve had eight hours sleep,” Keith agrees. He reaches over the edge of the bed to pick up one of the extra towels he’d set aside earlier. “Turn over?”

Shiro frowns. “This isn’t the—”

“Different towel,” Keith says quickly.

Shiro shifts onto his stomach obediently, and Keith uses the towel to wipe the excess oil off his skin. 

“You have magic hands, you know that?” Shiro already sounds like he’s on his way to dozing off again. A really good orgasm will do that to a guy.

“Glad you’re a fan,” Keith says, giving Shiro’s back one last rub before tossing the towel away. He kills the lights, then settles down in the bed next to Shiro. Shiro’s arm immediately snakes around his waist, drawing him close, as Keith hooks a leg around Shiro’s thighs. 

For a long time Keith just listens to the sound of Shiro’s breathing, low and even, before he finally gives a voice to the thought that’s been swirling around his head for the last half hour.

“This is”—Keith’s voice catches. He swallows and tries again. “This is exactly the life I’d hoped for too.”

Shiro’s breath seems to stutter, his body going still. Keith is holding his own breath, unsure if he should have said that out loud.

But then Shiro reaches for him under the covers, finds his hand, and links it with his own. He holds it for a moment, running his thumb over Keith’s palm, then raises their hands to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of Keith’s hand, just as Keith had done earlier.

“I know,” he whispers.

Keith sighs, all the tension leaking out of him in a single exhalation. He holds Shiro's hand tight and smiles in the darkness, unseen.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/scansionictus).


End file.
